The Dark Angel Drabble Diary
by bewarethemelodrama
Summary: A place for all my Dark Angel related drabbles, one-shots and shorts to live. M rating for potential evil brain. As always, I own nothing but the writing.
1. This broken world is rotten to the core

**The Dark Angel Drabble Diary**

_- A drabble: a moment in time, an image, captured. A fragment. A glimpse into a life other than our own. Significance can be attributed or taken away by the reader as they see fit, as the writer is merely a linguistic camera._

Basically, if I didn't do this, I was going to end up with a load of shortish one-shots making me look like a much more prolific writer than I really I am. So we have the DA Drabble Diary. A place for all my Dark Angel related drabbles, one-shots and shorts to live. As always, I hope you enjoy and review!

The first one was inspired by an image in my head. Let me know what you think. Depressing again... sorry. They won't all be though! Cross my heart and hope (not) to die!

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**This broken world is rotten to the core**

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There was blood on her face.

The day she showed up at his door, no warning, dirty, clothes torn, there was blood on her face and she didn't speak a word.

He didn't either. Just stepped out of the doorway and let her pass. The blood had already crusted over her cheek and lips, and the hair by her ear was matted with it. She walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Alec went back to the sofa, but after fifteen minutes of listening to the sound of water hitting his bath tub, with nothing between it, he went and cautiously pushed open the bathroom door. Steam billowed out.

Max was standing by his mirror, staring at her reflection. She had taken her jacket off but she made no move toward the shower, instead lifted a hand to her face and smeared the blood on her damp skin. She didn't even turn her head to look at him when she spoke.

"Some of this is mine," there was no tone to her voice, no ups and downs, no tremble, no emotion. There was nothing. She sounded... dead. "Some of this is mine, and there's not a cut on me." Alec started at that, and realised she was right. The side of her face, her mouth and chin, there was blood all over her, but no sign of a wound. Her voice dropped lower as she turned to face him, she wiped her hand down her face and stared at the blood on it. "I saved his life with this blood, all that time ago. And now I've got it back again."

"Logan." Alec meant for it to sound like a question, but it came out a statement. A horrible truth. Max leant her back against the cabinet and silently sunk to the ground. She wrapped her arms around drawn up knees, and dropped her face down. She was shaking, but there were no tears.

"They weren't even White's people. Or trans. Or anything," she whispered. "They were just... people with guns looking for junk to steal." Alec sat down beside her, shoulder touching hers but nothing more. "I got there too late. They weren't even there anymore. It was just... mess and... Logan."

Alec wrapped his arm around her shoulder, familiar ground. Comforting for him and her. He rested his chin on her lowered head for a minute, then pulled back and looked down at her.

"I'm so sorry, Maxie." She squeezed her eyes tight shut. Tried to push back the tears. She couldn't. They came suddenly, and she was shaking even more. Body wracked, shuddering with her grief. The tears cut tracks through the blood on her cheeks, caught on the curve of her lips. Alec gathered her to him and hugged her tight.

They sat like that, moments, minutes, seconds meaning nothing. She tried to wipe away her tears and her hands came back red, and she wept harder. Alec said nothing. He just held her.

Finally, he lifted her up. She didn't resist, just curled into his shoulder. He stepped into the bathtub with her, and sat under the shower. He was drenched instantly, jeans sticking to his thighs, white t-shirt moulding to his pecs and stomach. He scooted forward a little, and positioned Max in front of him. He laid her head on his shoulder, and wrapped one arm around her middle. With the other, he wiped her face gently. The water was hitting the back of her head, and he washed it forward, down the side of her face, over her cheek and lips. There were still tears making their way down the other side of her face, and looking down he saw his t-shirt was staining pink down one side.

**.**

They weren't hard to find. Petty thieves never were if you knew the right people to ask, the other right people to bribe, which of them needed a slight shake or threat to loosen their tongues. Petty thieves were never difficult to find, unless they were transgenics. These weren't.

They weren't difficult for Alec to find.

He blurred. He was too fast and they realised it a moment too late. He crunched one man's nose, forcing cartilage past the point it should go. He kicked another in the head and threw the first's limp body into a dreadlocked man. He grabbed the second guy, and twisted his arm until he heard bone crunch. He grabbed the gun in his mangled fingers and twisted them. Alec blocked himself with the man's body as he fired at the remaining two men. Two bullets used, two lives ended. Quick, efficient.

Lydecker would be so proud.

The third guy had struggled out from underneath his buddy, and fired at Alec. Alec twisted again, and felt blood splatter across his face as the man he held was shot in the head by his friend. He threw him across, knocking the dreadlocked man to the floor once more. He blurred across to him, and kicked his weapon away. Alec stared down at the man.

"We're just trying to survive, dude," No pity, where once Alec may have felt some, came to him. Instead he felt Max. He saw her in his arms. Saw himself washing away the blood and tears. Logan's blood. Her blood. Her constant sacrifices.

"Shut up." He raised his foot, and stomped it down on the man's throat. He felt bone and cartilage crunch under his boot. He watched, coldly, waited out the man's struggles. Let him choke and shudder. Saw the blood pooling, foaming in his mouth. When he was sure he was gone, past the point of resurrection, Alec left.

**.**

There was blood on his face.

Alec walked through the door, and the first thing Max noticed was that there was blood on his face.


	2. Crossfire

**Crossfire**

We were running. Panting. Full pelt before blurring. Trees and shrubs tore at hair, clothes, skin.

And we ran and ran and ran.

Bullets spattered around our feet. Pock-marked earth and leaves and trees. Not skin. Not yet. Endless supply. Continuous. When would those mother fuckers run out of ammo?

When the job was done. Always the answer. Still didn't want to hear it. So we run and run and… you get the idea.

Breathe.

One foot.

Other.

Repeat.

Will morality even kick in? Mortality? Will they feel guilt when the other feels pain? Or will it just end, and move on to the next?

Rinse. Repeat. Return. Rebound. A perpetual cycle that only ends in dreams. Nothing to stop it. A juggernaut of escape and evade, strategising and surrender. No. Wait. Not that. Never that. Of all the things, never surrender.

The hand in mine is strong. The pulse, rapid. Grip tight and sure. It clamps secure fingers over the doubt struggling to rise from me. Beating tiny bird wings inside my ribs, fighting to be free. His flesh on mine is enough to sear the tips of the feathers. To make the doubt retreat. To bury it under the other emotions scrapping for priority.

Because we are strong. We are soldiers. We are together, so we **will** win.

We emerge from the forest suddenly, feet hitting asphalt sending shock through me. We're on a road. Leading where? Leading from? I don't know these things. On the other side is a field. No cover there. No cars in sight. No hope.

No hope?

He pulls me into his arms as they come. A bedraggled hunting party. Guns trained on us as they labour to catch their breath, as they emerge from between the trees beside us. Another two come out further up the road. We are between two sets of cold metal. I feel trapped, cornered. Want to hiss my displeasure like the cat I supposedly am. Instead I stay. Perfectly still. Two warm, solid arms encasing me. Protecting me from the crossfire I feel is sure to come. They would be stupid not to shoot us.

They are stupid.

We are told to separate. We do. We are told to walk towards them. We do. We are told to go slowly. We exchange a look. We don't.

We leap simultaneously, over the stunned, stupid heads of our pursuers. Then we are back in the forest, crashing through foliage, bullets spattering the ground behind us once more. But we are ahead now. Adrenaline seeps though my veins. Merges with the power that is already programmed into me. The will to live that they never really understood how to stamp out, irregardless of science and psyops and the other power that money and military bestow.

We are soldiers. Our pursuers only play pretend. The gun does not make the soldier. And we are fast. So much, impossibly faster, than the already exhausted uniforms still chasing us.

The fear, the adrenaline, it all seeps away to nothing as the gap between us and then lengthens. Then it is just us. Just my brother and me, and we are free.

But then I wake up.

I blink.

Once.

Twice.

I push through the shroud of sleep.

My brother and I, we're not free.

Because Ben didn't make it out of the forest that day. Because Ben is dead. Because I killed him.

And because I will forever be stuck, between guilt, and the knowledge that what I did was right. That in its way, it was just. But it was also terrible. Because it wasn't something inescapable, like a crossfire, that killed my brother.

It was me.


	3. The price we pay for angst

Pure Crack!Fic. 90% dialogue. What ever you do, just don't question it. You'll go crazy. This is mostly to give y'all a break from my depressing tendencies. Oh dear :)

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**The price we pay for angst**

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Original Cindy was on a mission. The mission, and she damn well chose to accept it, was to get her fine-ass best friend out the house, out of her moping, and hopefully under something stress relieving.

The whole Logan and the virus deal had hit the girl hard. She barely ate, slept even less than usual. When she wasn't out in the middle of the night on her Ninja, she was just sitting around. Moping. Cindy did not stand for moping.

She entered Max's room, making little effort to be quiet. It wasn't like her girl was sleeping anyway. Instead she was perched on the windowsill as ever, staring out at the perpetual Seattle rain. Cindy flung herself down on her stomach onto Max's mattress.

"Whatcha doin', Boo?" she asked, even though she knew the answer.

"Nothin'." Max replied, shooting her a small smile. "Just watchin' the world go by."

"Uh huh." Cindy's immaculate, if she said so herself (which she did), eyebrows rose. "How 'bout you try joinin' it for a bit instead?"

"Not feelin' it tonight." Cindy prepared herself. This was going to be hard, but she would get the job done.

"You're not feelin' anything, any night, Boo." She stated. "You'd have had to participate in life in the last month to even recognize feelin' any more." Max swung to face her now, bringing her bunched knees down to dangle her feet over the window ledge.

"Harsh."

"Harsh but fair, but Original Cindy is here to mend your angsty heart."

"Why do I feel worried?" said Max slowly, a feline suspiciousness coming over her features.

"No need to worry." Cindy assured her, confidently. "I know exactly what you need."

"And what is that?"

"I've lined you up with a date."

"Okay, I'm worried."

"Look girl, you are way too hot to live your life pining. I say, use what science so finely crafted."

"Your answer to my problems is to go crawl on someone?"

"On, under, back to front, I don't care. Jus' a long I don't have to witness these rainy day blues no more." Max wrinkled her nose.

"Back to front?"

"You wanna be celibate? Cuz that shit ain't right. Even Normal gets laid."

"Eurgh, mental pictures." Max groaned.

"Jus' sayin' Boo. You're going on this date. Even if nuthin' happens. Cuz you need to get back out in the world."

"I told ya, Cin', I ain't feelin' it tonight."

"No. Girl, you're going. You might enjoy yourself."

Max pouted. Like it would do anything.

"Besides," Cindy added, oh-so-innocently. "He'll be here to pick you up in five minutes."

"Five minutes?" Max shrieked. She looked down at the tank top and sweatpants she was wearing. Hardly date worthy. "I could kill you, woman." she said, narrowing her eyes at Cindy. "Wouldn't even break a sweat." Cindy pulled a slinky black mini dress from underneath her. She gave Max a broad smile and held it out. Max took it from her and looked over it appraisingly. "Maybe I'll kill you another day."

"Figured that." Max wriggled into the dress, which, she hated to admit, actually made her look pretty damn good. She started finger-combing the tangles out of her curly hair.

"So, who is the guy?" she asked.

"Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise." Cindy answered, evasively.

"Do I know him?"

"Oh yeah."

"Well?"

"I'd say so." Max turned away from the mirror, where she had started to apply her lipstick.

"Is this gonna be weird?"

"Just have an open mind, Boo." Max's eyes narrowed suspiciously once more.

"Cindy, who is it?"

"Nuh-uh," said Cindy, firmly. Even shaking her head for emphasis. "No way am I givin' it away. He'll be here any minute. Needless to say, you get along great, and he was full on enthusiastic to volunteer to be your date. What more do you need?" They both heard the knock at the apartment door then, and Cindy grinned. "Speak of the devil…"

"And he shall arrive." Finished Max. She slipped quickly into some black stilettos, and cast Cindy one last suspicious look.

"Go on." Her roommate encouraged. Max sighed, and approached the door. She smoothed down the front of the dress, and told herself not to worry. That whoever was on the other side of the door couldn't be **that **bad if she was friends with them anyway.

Max opened the door. Sketchy held a bunch of flowers and a goofy grin.

"Hi Ma..."

Max slammed the door.

"I'd rather be celibate."


End file.
